The Key (London Prep Book 4) by Jillian Dodd

Author:Jillian Dodd [Dodd, Jillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: teen romance, prep school romance, dating, royalty, best teen books
Publisher: Swoonworthy Books
Published: 2021-02-22T23:00:00+00:00

I walk into Statistics, wondering if Mohammad is right.

I suppose things could go back to normal eventually. That everyone just needs time and space to get over things.

At least for a while.

And that’s probably a good thing because I don’t think I could handle normal right now. I’m not sure I even know what it is. Is normal me with Harry? Is normal Noah and me, back at his house, friends as usual? Is it us arguing? Is it us wanting each other? I think the possibilities of normal are too overwhelming to contemplate. So, this is a good thing really. Not being normal.

Because it gives me a chance to figure out what I want.

To get over things myself.

My gaze shifts across Mr. Johnson as I move into the classroom. He’s wearing an easy smile and rolled chinos. He’s leaning against his desk and watching students enter the room. I walk down the row toward my desk, not able to avoid the pair of eyes glued to me.

Noah’s staring up at me, making the whole getting to the desk process really uncomfortable. I feel like I’m up on a stage even if the audience is only comprised of one. When I sit down in my chair, I don’t glance over at him. I don’t have anything to say.

But I notice his smell immediately. It’s a mixture of shower gel and fresh laundry. It’s almost too clean of a smell for him. Apparently, his musk hasn’t set in for the day yet.

I sneak a glance at him, noticing that his shirt is crisply pressed, which must be why he smells like laundry. His dark hair is a little darker than usual, still damp from his shower. I pull my eyes away from him as I open up my textbook.

“So, does your hotel have a good breakfast?” Noah asks, his voice seeping into me.

I keep my eyes on my notebook, my face down at my desk.

“That’s the question you decide to lead with?” I ask.

“Are you going to answer?”

I glance over to him, connecting our eyes. “I didn’t eat.”

“How come?” he asks innocently. And it’s hard to read his expression.

“Didn’t have time. Mohammad wanted to meet before class, and my stomach hurts anyway,” I offer, keeping it short and sweet.

I look up to Mr. Johnson, who is shifting through papers on his desk. Of all the days that I wish he were starting class on time, today is one of them.

Because then I would have a reason not to speak to Noah.

To ignore him.

“Here,” Noah says, holding out a granola bar. “It’s not toast with banana and almond butter, but it will have to do.”

“I don’t want your granola bar,” I reply, looking from his hand back down to my desk.

“It’s not like it’s blood money,” Noah says, sounding amused.

“It might as well be.” I glare at him.

Noah narrows in his eyes at me, leaning in toward my desk. “Tell me, why are you in such a charming mood this morning?”

“Why do you care about my mood? Or what I eat? Or don’t eat? We aren’t friends.

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